Baby, It's Cold Outside
by m.jules
Summary: Wolverine and Rogue spend Christmas together in New Zealand.


Baby, It's Cold Outside

**By** m.jules

**Rated** PG-13

**Summary:** Wolverine and Rogue spend Christmas together in New Zealand.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not for profit.

**Notes:** Thanks to tinhutlady and Taryn for the beta. Credit for the title goes to my roommate, who voted for the Bing Crosby/Doris Day duet as the source. Merry Christmas to Devil Doll, Dieben, Diane, and the whole WRFA community.

_I really can't stay -_

_But baby, it's cold outside..._

Leave it to the government to find the one place in the southern hemisphere that's cold this time of year, Rogue thought bitterly as she crept across the compound, one eye out for the lazy guard who normally slept his late-night watch away. Her hands clenched reflexively around the small, soft bundle she carried and she held her breath, listening for the approach of any unexpected soldiers in their dusty brown uniforms.

The ground beneath her bare feet was hard-packed and frosted with cruel ice, and she bit her lip against the sharp pain as she darted across the wide strip of ground commonly known as "No Man's Land" that separated the men's quarters from the women's. Her vision wavered slightly, she stumbled, and just as she reached the other side, her head swam and her knees buckled underneath her. With what little strength she could hold onto, she controlled her fall so that she landed on her side, careful not to brush against the noisy, tell-tale chain link fence that ran around the perimeter of the men's building.

She lay motionless in a scraggly patch of grass that sparkled silver in the moonlight, listening hard for a moment before she pushed herself to her knees, tucked the bundle between her elbow and her side and found the hole a fellow worker had pointed out to her that some of the prisoners had dug underneath the fence. A violent shiver ran through her, not from the chill of the mountain air but from a brief recollection of a young German-Jewish boy following his tall, wiry friend through a similar hole, only to have his ragged coat catch on the bottom of the fence, panic rising in his throat when he heard the dogs snarling at the ends of their leashes… She shook off the stolen memory as she carefully removed the small, dirt-covered plank that rested over the hole and wriggled through the tunnel on her belly before turning and reaching through to replace it.

Kicking some frosty dirt over the plank that covered her exit, she brushed at the patches of mud that were forming as the frozen soil melted on her sleeveless brown shift that only covered her to her knees, leaving the rest of her long, shapely legs bare and smeared with dirt. Ah wouldn't be surprised to find out they just cut holes in a flour sack for our dresses, she frowned, picking at the rough, nubby cloth. Me an' Momma found better clothes than this in dumpsters, she thought fleetingly as she turned back toward the concrete block building.

She was conscious as she ran of the growing numbness in her toes and had to suppress a sharp hiss at the biting heat that splintered through her with every jarring step. Considering how painful the cold was and yet how difficult it already was to keep her balance, she hadn't decided whether not being able to feel her appendages was a good thing or not.

The building loomed ahead of her, its bulky shadow stretching toward her like the hands of a hungry beggar beckoning her closer, fingers longing to slip inside her pockets to steal food and coins she didn't have. She stopped to hurriedly jimmy the lock on the exterior door, looking around nervously as she offered silent, frantic prayers for assistance, and breathed a sigh of relief as it fell open noiselessly and she darted inside. There was only one direction go, so she jogged down the hallway of the small building, grateful that the layout seemed extremely straightforward, until at last she pushed through a cafeteria-style swinging door and slipped into what appeared to be the men's sleeping quarters. Looking around the large, rectangular space that may well have been a mess-hall in a former life, she was at once angry and aghast at what she found.

Bathed in the bleak blue glow of the moonlight that fell grimly through the windows were literally dozens of men sleeping on the bitter tile floor with nothing more than a thin mat and a blanket each. Her eyes scanned the figures, searching for the one she'd come for. In the dimness, it was hard to tell one man from another — short and tall, broad and slender, they were all formless shapes beneath the rough, threadbare blankets – but then a wheezing, rattling cough caught her ear and she turned toward it, narrowing her eyes as she noticed one of the men trembling, shivering in the cold.

Ah-ha. Gotcha.

Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, she began picking her way carefully across the jumble of bodies, weirdly reminded of the time the kids at the mansion wrangled her into playing Twister, which had lasted all of thirty seconds until the close quarters and awkward positions put her in a panic over her deadly skin.

Finally reaching him, she knelt on the floor by his feet, shuddering at the chill of the tile on her bare legs, and bit her lip as her eyes perused his face and form, deciding not to wake him from the little sleep he was managing to get. Slowly, gently, she folded the blanket back from his feet and pulled her bundle out from under her arm. Unfolding it with satisfaction, she shook out the socks and gently lifted his left foot into her lap.

She had just begun easing the soft cotton over his toes when he sat up sharply, his fist snapping out to halt just inches from her nose. She smiled sadly at the chapped but unbroken skin on his knuckles, thinking of the metal that lay involuntarily dormant beneath it and the thick, dirty-white bandages that wrapped the rest of his hand.

"Relax, sugah, it's just me," she whispered, wiggling the sock further down onto his foot and pulling it snugly over his ankle before she reached for the other foot, replacing the first onto the cold mat.

"The hell are you doin' here?" he demanded in a gruff whisper, rubbing his hands over his face, his congested voice sounding worse than it had last time she'd heard it.

She managed to hide her wince and pulled the other sock on quickly, rubbing the arch and instep of his foot with firm, rapid movements to try to generate some warmth in his skin. "Tryin' t' keep your cold from turnin' into pneumonia. You ain't soundin' so good lately." Her voice and eyes turned impish, and she gave him a mischievous smile. "'Sides, it's officially Christmas mornin'. Ah know we said no gifts this year, but Ah had to bring ya somethin'."

"Get back to your side of the camp, dammit," he snarled, though still managing to keep his voice quiet. "They'll kill ya if they find ya here."

"The next round isn't 'til dawn," she assured him, holding his feet between her hands and wishing desperately there was some way she could warm him up more quickly. "That's four hours from now."

He wavered visibly, and she felt protectiveness ripple through her. "Lie back, handsome," she coaxed, her lips twitching as she teased him gently. "Go back to sleep. Ah won't stay long."

"Prob'ly a good idea," he managed to grunt as he followed her instructions, easing himself back down to the unforgiving floor. "If any of the others wake up, you'll be wishin' the guards had caught ya instead."

She crept up beside him and tucked her legs underneath her, her hip pressing into his waist as she stroked his hair. It had grown longer during their captivity, almost to his shoulders, and she rubbed the dirty strands between her fingertips. "You don't worry none about me," she whispered. "You just get some rest and get better, 'kay? 'Cause Ah ain't carryin' your metal ass when we bust outta here."

He chuckled weakly and nodded, catching her hand as she made to pull away. "Hey," he whispered, and she leaned down until their faces were close enough together that she could see the dull gleam of fever in his blue eyes. "Where'd you get the socks?"

"Ah traded a guard for 'em," she answered with a smile, moving her hand from his grasp to rest reassuringly on his bare arm, then quickly rubbing up and down when she felt how cold his skin was, a chill of worry trickling through her at the thin sheen of sweat that covered his biceps. While the women were only given the short, shapeless dresses, the men were given equally shapeless pants made from the same scratchy material, but no shirts. Now, with his blanket still bunched around his waist from having sat up, she could see clearly the angry red marks that criss-crossed his chest and wrapped around his ribs. She knew they continued onto his back as well.

"What'd you trade?" he persisted as she reached down to pull the blanket up over his chest, his voice carrying the tell-tale rasp of a respiratory infection. She knew the wounds from the floggings had become infected and compromised his immune system – which, without the benefit of his healing mutation, seemed to be rather subnormal at best.

"Had an extra blanket," she lied easily, tucking the rough cloth around his shoulders. She'd traded a whole damn lot for those socks, but more than she was going to tell Wolverine, especially when he was already feeling helpless. Despite having always thought she'd like to be free of her mutation, the suppression collar was doing as much damage to her as it was to Logan. Her skin had been a primal defense for so many years that now she felt utterly denuded, stripped of all the superpowers that had been donated by the unlucky Ms. Marvel as well as the life-sucking force that had taken them in the first place.

"Liar," he accused, his eyes falling closed with exhaustion.

"Yeah," she admitted, strangely pleased that he'd seen her bluff and called it. It gave her an odd sense of security to know that, even with his senses muted by the thin metal band around his neck and the illness lurking in his lungs, he knew her that well. In the uncertainty of their present situation, millions of miles from anywhere in the wild, uncharted mountains on the north island of New Zealand and utterly cut off from their teammates, she felt crazily grateful that some things were still the same.

Then he coughed, and the rattle in his chest and the wheeze on the end of the harsh, barking noise reminded her of how many things had changed. She slid down next to him, pressing her body to his, her arms going around him to pull him close.

"What're you doin'?" he whispered weakly into her hair, and she curled her arm up to press her hand to the back of his neck, petting softly.

"Keepin' you warm, you big lug," she answered into the tendon of his neck just below his ear. "You feel like you got into a snowball fight with Bobby an' lost."

"Hmph," he chuckled, the laugh quickly sliding into a cough that shook him as he tried to suppress it. "Thanks, kid, but you'd better get goin' now. Don't need both of us sick."

"Ah don't care," she shrugged, threading her fingers through his hair and tangling it casually. "Mebbe the guards'd be scared to touch me; it'd be just like old times."

His arms stole around her and squeezed comfortingly. "Sorry about that, darlin'," he sighed. "Wish…"

"Hush up, sugah," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "You've done all you can; more than Ah'd ever ask ya to. And we've all got our wishes." She pulled back enough to look at him, tender concern in her expression. "Ah wish Ah could get you outta here, snap that collar offa you…"

He nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes sliding closed wearily. She tucked her head back under his chin, settling in. They stayed like that for long moments until he murmured, "I think it's time for you to go, darlin'…"

"Ain't nobody comin' in here 'til sunrise, sugah," she argued, shaking her head against his chest. "Ah'll leave when it starts gettin' light outside."

"Promise?" he insisted, tightening his grip on her, and she thought that he must be hurting like hell if he wasn't fighting her on the issue.

"Ah promise," she answered solemnly. "You rest."

One of his hands slid up into her hair, cupping the back of her skull, and she caught her breath as the feel of the bandage wrapped around his palm reminded her of the injury beneath it. She pressed her face into his skin and tried to steady her breathing, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of him in the field, his bulk looming above her, his blood splattering on her face. She shuddered, and he soothed her with a soft shushing sound.

"You rest, too," he murmured, lifting the edge of the blanket to tuck it around her as well, and she nodded her acquiescence, not trusting herself to speak.

Hours passed, sleep coming and going like a restless ghost in the uncomfortable chill of the night, until Rogue lifted her head to see the cold navy of the sky outside the window beginning to lighten to a harsh gray-blue. Stirring, she tried to untangle herself from Wolverine's embrace without waking him, but his clouded blue eyes opened and found hers, regret filling them at the knowledge that he could hold onto her no longer. Their fleeting reprieve from isolation and loneliness was over.

She smiled in wistful sympathy, her hand sliding down his arm to wrap around his hand briefly as she moved to her knees and began to stand. His grip tightened almost painfully and he tugged her back down. "Wait," he managed, sitting up and reaching beneath the corner of his mat.

She obeyed, sitting back on her haunches as he pulled out a square of folded wax paper. He handed it to her, and she took it, puzzled.

"What's this?"

"Merry Christmas," he grinned. "It's food." When she started to shake her head, he held up his hand to forestall her. "They give the men more than they do the women. I've been keepin' some of it back."

"Wolverine," she hissed in a tone that brooked no argument, "you're sick, and you need to eat this. Ah ain't takin' your food." She thrust the packet back at him, but he pushed it towards her stubbornly.

"Don't start any bullshit, river rat," he growled. "Who've you been givin' your portions to? An' don't tell me you've just started havin' faintin' spells for no good reason."

She flinched, her eyes darting guiltily to his bandaged hands as she remembered her knees buckling among the crops, the field boss's whip singing down upon her repeatedly until she'd heard it crack against something that wasn't her skin and looked up to see the brown leather lash wrapped around a large, square, bleeding hand. She remembered how he'd thrown his body over hers, his eyes shut tightly as he grimaced and bore the flogging until they'd dragged him away and tied him to the whipping post, inflicting their punishment upon him until he'd staggered and slumped against the pillar, crying out in pain, and she had watched it with a stony face and tortured eyes, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"There's a girl," she answered in a ragged whisper. "She's only about eight years old. The other women all steal her food, an' without mah strength, Ah can't fight 'em all off… so Ah just share mine. She's hungry, and she eats most of it…" She bit her lip as she regarded the package she held and made a decision, opening it carefully as she tucked her legs to the side, getting comfortable.

He looked at her curiously as she scooted up until their hips touched through the blanket, holding the food in her hands. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she dipped her fingertips into the gelatinous oatmeal-like substance and held them at his lips. "We'll share," she informed him, and he grinned at her, opening his mouth to accept the offering.

He watched her scoop up another little bit and eat it, licking it off her fingertips. As she scraped another bite for him, he smirked and remarked, "Ya know, this is how I always wanted to spend Christmas."

She regarded him with a blatantly dubious expression and replied dryly, "In a labor camp in New Zealand?"

"Nah," he grinned, obediently opening his mouth and taking the food, swallowing before he continued, "Bein' served breakfast in bed by a beautiful woman."

She snorted, but her cheeks pinked with pleasure as she fed herself another small bite, scooping up the rest of the meager meal to give to him. "Glad Ah could grant at least one wish for ya," she chuckled. "Just call me 'Ms. Claus'."

It was his turn to choke on suppressed laughter as he accepted the last bite. He captured her fingers in his mouth, sucking gently as his eyes held hers. Something shifted between them as sparks ran up her arm, and she was slow to pull her hand back, her expression turning intense as he leaned toward her. Her lips parted automatically at the feel of his breath on them, and her eyelids fluttered closed moments before she felt the warm brush of his mouth.

His lips pressed to hers chastely for a moment, and she felt hot tears prick her eyelids at the dry, feverish feel of his skin. Then his mouth opened and his tongue slipped quickly past her lips as his hand snaked around to slide into her hair. He tugged gently, tilting her head back, and she accommodated him, a soft moan escaping her as the kiss deepened, the bland flavor of their breakfast and the bitter tang of his sickness unable to completely mask a salty-sweetness that she thought must be the simple taste of Logan.

Gentling the kiss until it faded, he finally moved his mouth away from hers and leaned their foreheads together, a stuttering sigh escaping him as his hand flexed in her hair. "I… Rogue…"

"Ah know," she whispered, unwilling to open her eyes against the weighty pleasure that engulfed her. "Me too."

"When we get outta here…"

She nodded, her eyelashes finally fluttering open, the desire to look at his eyes overcoming the endorphin induced lethargy. "When we get out," she confirmed, and he leaned forward, kissing her firmly for a moment but pulling back quickly when her mouth opened with a small sound of wanting.

"It's dawn," he whispered urgently. "You have to go. Now." When she shook her head, he massaged her scalp gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You have to," he repeated, "or we won't be gettin' out of here in time for New Year's."

She looked at him with regret-tinged fondness as she cupped her hand against his face, hoping to convey her gratefulness at his forced optimism. He was as much a realist as she and knew that, in all likelihood, the suppression of their mutations would hamper Cerebra's search for them so effectively that it might be many more months before they were rescued. In fact, they would consider themselves damn lucky if they both survived until the X-Men found them.

With one last quick press of lips against lips, she pulled herself away from him and fled the men's quarters, not feeling the icy ground beneath her feet this time. She refused to allow herself a single glance over her shoulder until she was safe and breathless in the thatched hut that comprised the women's barracks, her chest heaving with adrenaline and exertion as she pressed her fingertips to her mouth and smiled in wonder at what had just happened.

She gathered her wits about her as she padded quickly to the mat and blankets next to Mila, the young girl who had managed to worm her way into Rogue's affection and protection. Sliding under the covers, she reached out to touch Mila's silky red hair almost absently as she bit her lip against the rush of tingling excitement that still throbbed in her veins. Wolverine, of all people, she thought giddily. Logan. Stifling a giggle, she sighed and closed her eyes as Christmas morning dawned brightly on the world.

The End


End file.
